Winter Dreams
by ashenRenegade
Summary: Lavellan returns from her latest mission with enough paperwork to sink a Qunari dreadnought, but that isn't why Cullen is worried. There's something left unsaid whenever she turns in mission reports or returns from long stints away from Skyhold. He wishes she would tell him. Wishes they could overcome their suffering together.
1. Frost

**Chapter 1**

**Frost**

Darkness fell over Skyhold the same way every night; suddenly with a cold breeze. It was closing in on winter now and the residents could feel the bite of frost seeping into their bones earlier and earlier with each passing day. It was the second winter the Inquisition had seen here and - unlike the first year - there had been measures taken to ensure the comfort of the people living there. The infirmary had been bolstered with a fireplace and Josephine had secured donations from Val Royeaux in the form of thick fur blankets for the patients. The main hall had its repairs completely finished by that point so there were no open holes in the ceiling, and the mages in the tower were given permission to start small, contained fires on each floor to warm themselves so long as the embers were supervised. That was but a few of the ideas put forward and cemented. It made Skyhold seem cosier, even with the threat of Corypheus on the doorstep. So, when the sun disappeared and the luminescent glow of the moon poked over the snow-capped peaks in the distance, most retreated to one of three places; their beds, the tavern, or the hall depending on how much they desired company. Inquisitor Adhlea Lavellan chose her chambers. If nothing else, she had work to do.

There were papers scattered across her desk; missives, requests, requisitions, proposals of both resources and marriage. Those were just some that caught here eye. It had piled up while she had been scouring the Emerald Graves. She had barely managed to dismount and hand the reins of her hart to Dennet before messengers swarmed her, all looking either deeply uncomfortable or apologetic. She treated them the same as she always did; with a smile and a nod, and the occasional pat on the shoulder to assuage their worries. She was the Inquisitor. She took it all in her stride. How could she not? How could she show them weakness? How could they see the infallible leader of the Inquisition fold under the pressure of a few sheaf's of paper? No, they would not. Though there was something darker pulling at her from beneath closed eyelids, haunting her with vivid pictures when her exhausted head drooped forward into her open palm as sleep lulled her with its siren song.

_Flash of green. The Fade? Memories scattered; fragments. I'm not special. I'm not chosen. Never wanted this. Never wanted any of this. I told them I wasn't chosen by their god. I told them I was just a product of circumstance. Varric looks disappointed. He believed. They all believed. The demon jabs at us with spiteful words; it knows our fears. Hawke hears Fenris' name and stiffens. Blackwall looks odd, sick and pale. Varric hides behind his jokes. Dorian hears his father's name and sneers. It knows our fears. All of them. I hear it in my mind, scratching around. It looks for mine. It finds my clan, finds Cullen, finds the Inquisition. Finds the image I see of myself being twisted and corrupted by this madness. It sees I fear much but says nothing. The absence of its words hangs thick in the air. It knows, and it knows I know. I see it descending on Stroud as we leave. I reach for him, but it's too late. This could have been different. I could have done something. Could have stopped this from happening._

_Could have._

_Didn't._

_My fault._

_MY FAULT._

Adhlea awakes with a start, her elbow giving out and nearly causing her head to slam painfully into the desk. There's a knock at her door. She feels the lingering sting in her arms and legs as she's vaguely aware she forgot to shut the doors to her balcony. Creators, it's cold.  
"Who is it?" she calls out, shaken.  
"It's me," she hears Cullen's voice on the other side. "You missed supper. I've brought you some if you would like it,"  
She feels the sweat of her nightmare making her shirt stick to her back. A quick glance in the mirror to her left shows her wide-eyed, frightened. He would not see her like this. Her pain would not add to his own. She slows her breathing, brings herself back to the realm of the conscious. Inquisitor Adhlea. Inquisitor. Fearless. Unbreakable.  
"Come in,"  
The door opens, and the Commander enters with a plate full to the brim with an array of meats, vegetables, and bread. He hadn't skimped on her portion, evidently. He places it on her desk before wordlessly shutting and latching the balcony doors, the feathers on his pauldrons rippling slightly in the biting breeze.  
"Adhlea, it's freezing in here," he exclaims, casting her a worried glance. "You can't tell me you were comfortable like that,"  
"I dozed off," she apologises and rises from her chair to embrace him, her lithe frame dwarfed by his. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise it had gotten so late,"  
"It isn't. Just the change of seasons,"  
Cullen's eyes move to her desk and there's an arch of an eyebrow.  
"That's quite the pile you've got there,"  
"Like your desk is any better, Commander," Adhlea tries her best to smile but fears it falls flat.  
"True enough but I'm not away for days or weeks on end," he replies and grabs a stray request from the side of her desk. "What is this drivel? A request from some minor Tevinter nobility asking for..._how_ much gold? For what?"  
"He wants us to subsidise research he's conducting on Venatori arms and armour. He claims he can help us find their weak spots,"  
"If he doesn't see sense I'll find _his__ weak spots," _Cullen snarls, ripping the request in half. "Tell me this isn't what you've been doing all afternoon,"  
"Not _all_ afternoon," Adhlea protests. "I took some time out to meditate, and Varric stopped by to play a hand of cards earlier,"  
"You've been in here for upwards of five hours, and that's all you've done?" he's steering her back to her desk now, pushing the plate towards her, bundling up the papers in no particular order.  
"There's been a lot that needed my attention," was her only excuse as she picked at the food in front of her, each mouthful satisfying but doing nothing to ease the nausea inflicted upon her by the sudden nightmare.  
Cullen notices her trepidation and reaches across, gloved hand taking her own and caressing the painfully cold fingers.  
"Adhlea, are you alright?" he asks, copper eyes trying desperately to catch hers. "Perhaps you need some rest. If you're nodding off at your desk and don't have much of an appetite-"  
"No! No. I'm fine," she cuts him off. "It was a long time to be away from Skyhold, that's all. I didn't expect there to be so much to deal with when I got back but with our notoriety on the rise, I should have anticipated it. It's my own fault,"  
She watches as his hand closes around hers proper and squeezes. She won't meet his gaze, but his concern washes over her like a rush of cold water. It shocks her, stills her. He doesn't believe her. Why did that fact hurt so much when she was lying? Why did it feel like a knife in her gut even though he was correct to assume she wasn't telling him everything?  
"Talk to me," he pleads.  
She should talk to him. She expected the same of him when he confided in her about not taking lyrium. He had told her about his trauma at the Circle in Ferelden. He had told her everything. Given her everything. Every hurtful truth that could be used against him later. There was nothing hiding in his shadow still to be brought to light even though her own was heavy with truths not told and secrets not shared. Commander Cullen Rutherford, the most guarded man she'd ever met save perhaps Solas, had opened himself to her completely and she could not even bring herself to tell him anything. The idea of telling him how frightened she truly was made her so uncomfortable she nearly pulled her hand from his. Her mouth felt dry as she opened her mouth and closed it dumbly. Words wouldn't flow, and her mind couldn't think of any sensible order to put them in. His hand tightened around hers, thumb brushing over the back of it.  
"Adhlea, I can't read your mind. Let me help, please,"  
Read her mind. _Read her mind__. _Something of an idea flashed through her as she raised her head to look at him, eyes stinging with the threat of tears but determined in their intent.  
"Get Cole," was all she could muster.

When Cullen returned, Cole was following obediently behind him. The boy lingered by the door before his gaze turned to the Inquisitor from below the rim of his too-big hat and he took a few tentative steps forward  
"Cullen says you needed me," he says, perplexed. "That there was something I can help with,"  
Adhlea nods, seeing an understanding settling over Cole's gaunt features as their eyes meet. Cullen is somewhere in her periphery, silent and patient.  
"It's all...Painful," Cole announces to nobody. "Dark. Dark and dismal and daunting. They call her a Herald, but all she's heralding is what's haunting her. Her fears choke her in her sleep; straining and stifling her like a hangman's noose as she watches the world fall around her. Eyes wide. Ever vigilant. Complacency is not an option when she knows what the future could hold,"  
She nearly stops him. There's a stutter in Cullen's breathing as she feels the burn of his gaze on the back of her shoulder. A mouthful of wine does nothing to make her mouth feel less dry. Cole watches her for a moment, cautious, before he continues.  
"Nobody needs to see. Lonely and lamenting, she seeks solace in her own smile. They will have their Herald and she will be hardened. She will not crack and have them lose what faith there is left. They need an Inquisitor; an infallible idol. This is what she'll be. For them,"  
She hates having her emotions laid bare like this, but she couldn't do it alone. Cole was the only person that could do this without forcing the words from her own lips. Even with him being more human now, he could still see right through her if she let him in. He smiled at her sadly and ventured further into the room, stopping just shy of her desk.  
"Varric says that people need to experience pain to learn from it and grow," he says gently. "He also says that growing is a lot harder when you try to do it all by yourself. Maybe I can help. I just can't do it the way I used to anymore,"  
The innocence of the boy had always touched Adhlea's heart, but now it was even more raw after having her heart exposed. She must have been smiling, because his own grew wider.  
"It looks like I did something right. That's good," he looked to one side, supposedly at Cullen. "I could stay and help, but that isn't what you want right now,"  
There was an embarrassed strangled noise from behind her as Cullen tried his best to apologise to Cole but before he could form a cohesive sentence the Inquisitor had said it for him.  
"I'd like to sit and talk with you when this is all sorted out, Cole," she nods. "But right now, I owe Cullen an explanation. I've not been entirely open with him, and he should know why,"  
Cole stops, head slightly tilted, and his eyes glimmer with what she could have sworn was unadulterated happiness.  
"Some of the pressure lifts like armour being shrugged off. It isn't better now, but it is easier. There's a wound under the armour; bloody and bruised, but it will not break her. It just needs a healer, so it doesn't hinder her. She shouldn't hide it under bloodsoaked breastplate anymore," he intones. "Yes. I will go now, but you know where you'll find me,"  
"Yes, Cole," Adhlea nods. "I always do,"  
Then he was gone, barely a whisper on the winter winds as he padded out of her room and shut the door behind him. She had a lot to explain.


	2. Thaw

**A/N: Elvhen translations coutesty of Project Elvhen on AO3!**

**Vhenan = Heart**  
**Sathan = Please**

**Chapter 2  
****Thaw**

Adhlea watches Cole leave and stares down at her hands, nervously wringing themselves as she hears Cullen move from where he was standing. It's time for her to remedy this properly. Slowly, she rises from her desk and moves to one of the bookshelves nearby. She withdraws an old tome bound in worn leather, the pages dog-eared and moss green around the edges. It smells of elfroot and moss and when she opens it to the page she wanted she can pick out every single indentation. Every slight imperfection in the paper where dozens of hands had touched it. Every little scratch in the paper wrought by a dry quill. The Elvhen, written in a faded black ink, flows like a tributary amongst the ebbing peaks and troughs of the roughly pressed paper.

"Before I left for the Conclave," she begins, fingers skimming the lettering. "I was next in line to become my clan's First. They preserve the old ways of our people, telling stories and protecting the clan. They are the first port of call for any judgement passed or advice given. I knew my role there. I was to train under the Keeper and succeed her when she passed on. I had not planned for anything grander to happen,"

She pauses to give him a cursory glance and finds him staring. Intent, patient, understanding. His eyes plead with her, coaxing her.

_Maker, please, let me in._

"It might not have been so different as Inquisitor. People come to me for advice and judgement and I have to watch over my inner circle as I would my clan. However, the trials I've faced thanks to Corypheus and his wretched Anchor have been nothing short of devastating,"

She hears her voice waver as visions of Corypheus' future flashed before her eyes. She hadn't seen Cullen at the castle but had heard. He had given everything and everyone he had to this cause. That Cullen in the future had to lead alone. Without her. Without Lelianna. Without Josephine. All because she had failed. Her success determined the fate of Thedas, the world, and that was far and away more intimidating a role than being Keeper. She hears Cullen approach, but her eyes are fixed on the page before her, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears when she finds the roughly sketched halla she had penned one day in a fit of boredom. The Keeper had tried to reprimand her, telling her that it was not just her property but the entire clans, and found that the innocence of a child and their idle hands were better guided than punished. Keeper Deshanna had been wise and firm in her teachings. Adhlea finds herself wondering what her teacher would say about her predicament now. She had confided in her instructor, always, so why did she shy away from her lover now?

"Your reports have always troubled me, love," Cullen frowns, hand finding the crook of her arm. "But there are things I know you've seen and not shared. Why?"

She tries to laugh but only a choked cough comes. She feels a pang of guilt for leaving so much out, in both her reports and her words, but how could she remain sane and continue to relay every little detail? She doesn't realise she's crying until she feels a tear crest her cupid's bow.

"Why would I make myself relive it beyond what I already have to every day?" she answers, a tear dripping from her chin and permeating the bottom of the page. "More importantly, why should I make others live through it too? I know what I saw and I know it must be stopped. Beyond that, what do I gain from dragging others into my misery?"

"Do you think I should have not told you about Ferelden's Circle?" Cullen protests. "Or, perhaps, should I have told nobody about the fact that I no longer took lyrium? Should I have not told you more about my time in Kirkwall? Adhlea, you would not expect me to face those hardships alone. Do not expect it of yourself,"

Adhlea's been staring at the same page since she had opened the book. It is a page on Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. She knows it by heart, but it keeps her eyes busy before the haze of budding tears obscures her vision. She offers no resistance as Cullen takes the book from her hands and reaches out to wipe her cheeks, forehead pressing against her own as gloved fingertips rub slow circles at her temples.

"_Vhenan_," he breathes. "_Sathan_,"

His pronunciation is awkward and stilted but the words still carry their intended weight. Her hands come up to overlap his own and at some point, her resistance crumbles altogether. Something within her snaps, and then she's weeping. Tears cascade over her vallas'lin and Cullen's hands chase them away, pulling her to him and allowing her to hide her face in the feathers of his pauldron. All he can do is hold her until the sobbing ebbs and gasping breaths comes to a gradual stop. The ex-templar had suffered plenty up until this point; his life had not been an easy one. However, seeing his love - his _soulmate _\- reduced to this was worse than any agony he had endured prior to this. He shushes her, strokes her hair and gently rubs her back but the sound of her agony wounds him more than any blade had done. When she finally speaks her voice is a whisper of what he knows; that unbridled strength and resilience falling to reveal the very mortal woman underneath.

"Cullen, I'm terrified," she admits, voice slightly muffled by the pauldron. "I've seen the future where I fail, and the world is torn asunder. I've walked within the Fade and seen that Corypheus knows exactly what I fear. I look to the people here and they stare at me with such reverence, such _hope_, that it scares me and humbles me all at once. They look to me, one of the Dalish, to save them but what if I can't? What if I fail? What if all of this goes to hell and it's because I make one wrong decision?"

He feels her fingertips desperately gripping the back of his shoulders and it's all he can do to not start weeping himself. Adhlea had never once questioned her duty or her purpose. She had thrown herself into this Inquisition and taken on the role without a complaint. She had been hailed as a surprisingly adept diplomat and a loyal companion. Bit by bit, she was changing the world around her. Mending it. She never thought to take any time to mend herself.

"Adhlea, darling, love," he whispers, his hand rubbing the back of her neck. "Maker, I wish you'd spoken to me about this sooner. If not me, then Dorian, Varric, _someone_. You were never meant to carry all of this alone,"

She still doesn't resist as he bends slightly, hooking his arm around the back of her knees and lifting her effortlessly. It feels like there simply is no fight left in her anymore and it breaks his heart all over again.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asks as he lays her down on her bed.

"Properly?"

"Properly,"

"Weeks. Nightmares hound me, chase me. It's all I can do to stay awake to try and to meditate instead,"

"_Love_," he sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed as he removes his boots. "I understand what it's like to have dreams like those, I do, but you cannot force yourself like that. If you want to succeed and stop Corypheus like you say you must then you cannot burn yourself down to the wick like this,"

She turns her head to watch him as he undresses down into his tunic and breeches, eyes flitting to the medley of scars that decorated his arms. She's so weary, so very tired, but how can she sleep when all she sees when she closes her eyes is death and ruin? It consumes her thoughts so the next noise from her mouth is a squeak of surprise when Cullen starts removing the armor she had neglected to remove upon her return. The normally shy commander moved with certainty and assuredness, finding each clasp and buckle easily.

"You're sleeping tonight, Adhlea," he states, leaving no room for argument. "You're sleeping in this bed tonight and so am I. Then, in the morning, you will eat and bathe, then proceed to tell me everything you've seen. From the beginning. In full detail,"

Could she even argue anymore? Cole had revealed everything she was too frightened to say herself and now she finds herself being laid completely bare in front of Cullen despite her still having so much to say. He knows now; knows how deep her suffering goes. He would never let her keep anything from him again. Was it truly better this way? Creators, she had forgotten how soft her pillows were. Dorian had said that the sheets were Antivan silk, too. Was that why it felt so luxurious against her skin? She could certainly see why they were prized so highly when Cullen helped her under them before crawling in beside her. One strong arm props him up on his side and he scans her face, worried about her lack of protest.

"Adhlea?"

"Hm?"

"You're very quiet. Unnervingly so, considering the circumstances,"

Golden eyes meet copper and there's silence for a moment more. She can't help but smile softly to herself as her fingers reach up to try and smooth the concerned wrinkles on his forehead.

"What is there to say, _vhenan_? I know you're right. It pains me, but I know when I'm beat. Truly, I'm one big walking contradiction; so intent on success that I'll destroy myself in the process. It doesn't make sense, does it? No, I know when to listen to reason. I cannot promise you I'll sleep, but I _will _try. Then, in the morning, I hope with all my heart that I can tell you everything. Honestly, I do. Perhaps I can even start before the Inquisition? I never did tell you about my clan,"

Cullen smiles as he notices her eyelids begin to droop, weeks of exhaustion starting to claim her. He lowers himself down beside her, pulls her flush against his chest, and begins tracing slow circles between her shoulder-blades. He feels her relax a little against him, nose brushing the side of his neck.

"I would like that," he agrees. "Very much, I think,"

Then she's gone, fast asleep in his arms. Despite his own trepidation when it came to sleep, Cullen follows close behind her. That night, neither of them dream at all and in the morning Adhlea eats, bathes, then proceeds to tell Cullen everything she's seen. In full detail.


End file.
